


Open Heart Surgery (That Is What You Do To Me)

by skyline



Category: Gilmore Girls
Genre: Angst, Finn is a sad fratboy, M/M, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-19
Updated: 2016-02-19
Packaged: 2018-05-21 15:11:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6056254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skyline/pseuds/skyline
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No matter what time of day, no matter the season or year, floppy bangs or spiky hair, Logan shines.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Open Heart Surgery (That Is What You Do To Me)

**Author's Note:**

> Errrrrm. I marathonned Gilmore Girls this past semester. This happened. I'm only just now getting around to posting it because...uh. I felt like inundating people with stories tonight?

He stands off to the side, watching and drinking whiskey.

There’s bitter in his throat and longing in his eyes, homesickness that weighs leaden in his gut. Still he stands, crystal tumbler (red plastic cup, champagne flute or rocks glass) clutched in one hand, a single, bright flicker in the crowd all he can ever concentrate on.

Finn’s drunk more often than he’s not.

Sobriety’s a distant acquaintance, the sun even more so. He comes alive at night; vibrant, electric. But once daylight touches down, he fades away, nonexistent.

Logan, by contrast, is golden. No matter what time of day, no matter the season or year, floppy bangs or spiky hair, Logan shines.

And Finn watches him, covets him, wants and wants and wants. Through leggy girls and big breasted broads, through sweet-faced smiles, big doe eyes, red curls, blonde locks, brunette tresses.

Logan doesn’t discriminate amongst women; as long as they’ve got two X chromosomes and a mouth, he’s infatuated. At least for a day.

A few weeks if the girl’s got that sparkle.

Finn’s known him for years, known the mischief and the cache of intelligence in his dark eyes, the way Logan is inevitably more fun, more adventurous, than anyone in the entire world.

And hell, he knows the world, knows the monotony and the absolute bloody boredom of the day to day. It’s why he stays drunk, every second, every minute, clutching onto evenings that buzz through his veins, hum with excitement and the sluice of bourbon over his tongue.

Logan makes it bearable.

Trips to Europe, base jumping, deep sea diving, flitting off anywhere, everywhere, doing all the things and all the places. That’s their MO.

It’s fun and it’s crazy, but it’s also a bizarre facsimile of love.

Every step of the way, Finn watches girls thread thin fingers through Logan’s hair and feels secure in knowing he’s the one who’ll be there when the girls’ names are long forgotten. He needs that security, needs that reassurance. Because Finn’s an arrogant prick and he embraces it, wallows in it, even. And in return, life hasn’t always been kind.

But Logan doesn’t mind. Logan never minds. Instead, every time Finn does something stupid, Logan is right there by his side. And afterwards, Logan will slump against him in the towncar/taxi/choose-your-mode-of-transportation home, his breath hot with alcohol, his smile loose and easy. He’ll tug at Finn’s sleeve and crack a dirty joke or roll his eyes at whatever nonsensical babble is pouring from Finn’s mouth, and hell if isn’t the closest thing to home he’s ever felt.

So. Finn doesn’t entirely love the day that Logan trips head over heels into a relationship. Rory’s a sweet girl, but Logan doesn’t need any sweet girls. He’s not supposed to become _domesticated_.

And yet he is. The wild child of a man that Finn adores most ardently is slipping from his fingers. He’s going to flit off to England, to become a big man in finance or marketing, or whatever the fuck it is the Huntzberger empire is built upon.

Yet Finn doesn’t even get one last true hurrah.

They’re at one of the final parties of the semester, right before graduation, and Logan’s up in Rory’s airspace, talking and laughing and smiling that pearly-white, fuck-me smile of his, the one that all the girls fall all over themselves for. But the only person it’s directed at is Rory, who returns it as indulgently, like Logan’s her pet Maltese.

He’s barely even drinking, nursing the same glass of beer for half the night. Meanwhile, Finn’s on his fifth glass, the whiskey burning a hot path down his throat. He’s been shot down by at least three different girls this night, but it’s all an act. He doesn’t plan on bringing anyone home.

Talk big and nobody knows how small you really feel.

That’s advice Logan gave him once, and oh, here he is, murmuring hot in Finn’s ear, “You need to stop telling people you’ll have sex with them in exchange for goods and services.”

“Can’t stop. Won’t stop,” Finn cheers, raising his tumbler. “Free food and sex are life’s sweetest delights.”

“Never change, Finn,” Logan tells him admiringly, the absolute _traitor_. “Never change.”

“You did,” Finn mutters, but he says it so lowly that the words are lost under the hum of party-sounds; chatter and clinking glasses and raucous laughter drowning everything he truly means out.

Logan squeezes his shoulder, that gorgeous grin of his never once dropping away, and Finn aches to kiss it off his face. Being with Logan, really and actually, was something he always thought he’d get around to. Sloppy, drunken kisses that never amounted to anything more were just…foreplay, Finn had thought.

There was supposed to be more _time_.

If Logan mourns the loss of what they could have been, he doesn’t show it. And Finn knows that’s because they never meant anything.

Logan was waiting for someone else, for this beautiful, intelligent, elfin princess of a girl to whisk him far, far away from Finn. It was inevitable. It was destiny.

Finn was never meant to have a home, especially not in a man like Logan Huntzberger.

So he does the only thing he can, and stands off to the side.

Drinking whiskey and watching.


End file.
